Through Shadows And Light
by Deidara the Arrancar Alchemist
Summary: AU. Sirius becomes Harry's guardian when the Potters died, & his way of life is different to if he was raised by the Dursleys. New dangers must be conquered, romances will blossom and die, and the mysteries of his past are far darker. HP, but remixed! :D


_Hey there! Thanks for clicking on this story, and if you read it, I hope you enjoy it, even though this first chapter is quite sad. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen in later chapters, but I've got a few ideas stored for the future, so they'll pop up as the story progresses. _

Chapter 1 ~

No sound but the wind sliced the silence. The breeze was cold and held the first buds of winter's sting in it's invisible depths, and it scooped up bundles of autumn leaves and sent them scuttling across the frosty ground with a dry rasp. The moon had fled the sky and it was almost entirely dark. A hole had been torn in the line of quaint sleeping cottages. There was a house on the end to complete the street mere seconds ago, but now all that remained was a mountain of slightly charred rubble; a wreck of shredded timber and crumbling stone that reflected a family destroyed.

Amid the chaotic debris, signs of a normal, content life lay scattered like tarnished pearls wallowing in the mud, glimpses of precious, every-day items we take for granted until they are snatched from our clutches. A dull silver spoon sprinkled with dust from fallen concrete lay bent and broken. A plump teddy bear with it's stuffing yanked out of it's tummy like entrails sat in the wreckage with sad amber eyes. And was that a hand trapped between two huge slabs of brick, the skin pale and lifeless?

Then, a movement from within the ruins. A feeble twitch as a baby boy regained conciousness and shrugged his blanket off him. He wriggled for a few moments more before he registered a strange sensation. It was on his forehead, and it hurt badly. The boy did not like it, and did what little children do when they are distressed. He sobbed and then let out a loud bawl, his face screwed up as a trickled of crimson blood ran down from the lightning-shaped slash on his forehead and down his rosy cheeks, his fists clenched as he demanded attention. The sound od his cries was louder than a siren in the silence of the aftermath of Lord Voldermort's thwarted attack.

A new sound joined the pitiful wails. A low growl at the edge of hearing slowly swelled into a throbbing, metallic roar. A beam of light carved through the gloom, like a falling star. And, impossibly, from the night sky a motorcycle hit the tarmac road and screeched to a halt outside the battered wooden gate.

The rider cut the engine, it's panther's pur subsiding into calm, it's sleek black body no longer reverbrating with the force of the engine. The rider dismounted with a heavy pant, as if he had ran to the Potter's house and not the motorbike. He took a long second to survey the damage, his heart encased in an icy embrace of diesbelief and fear, a sheen of sweat making his clothes stick to his tensed back. But his greif was interrupted as he cocked his head and listened.

Crying! A child's! Harry was, against all odds, _alive_!

The man jerked forward towards the house as if possessed by a madman, his legs faster than his thoughts as he stumbled closer to the ruins, determined and above all overwhelmed with joy that at least one had surived. As he clambered over the rubble, not paying the slightest attention to the fresh grazes scorred over his palms, a grin tugged at the corners of his lips in the knowlege that at least one Potter had breath inside them still, but at the same time pinched with sorrow at the calamity.

At last, he came upon the boy squeezed between two hulking boulders, the baby's cries stiffling to wheezing, sharp sobs as his lungs began to hurt, his nose and eyes damp. The man let out a bark-like exclimation of amazed happiness and darted towards Harry's side.

He pulled aside the rocks blocking his path, too desperate and caught in the moment to use magic. With a final grunt, the space was cleared and the man reached down and tenderly swooped down and prised him out. Harry's cries became whimpers and sniffles and hiccups as the man gazed in bewildered elation, hugging the boy close to his chest.

"You are one lucky boy, Harry" said the man softly.

He frowned though, his handsome face creased slightly. He took the sleeve of his fine, embroided robe and gently smeared off the blood from the boy's forehead.

_What a strange scar..._

But the man's head snapped up and he shook it roughly knowing he had little time before the Muggles came to investigate. Wizards would follow soon afterwards.

"James. Lily."

He had to find them as soon as possible, make sure they were both alright after this awful calamity. The terror returned and squeezed his chest like an anvil. Were they dead? Wicked dread whispered grimthoughts to his quaking reslove with gleeful malice. It was a miracle beyond anything he'd ever known that Harry had survived an attack from Lord Voldermort himself, so would he be pushing his luck to discover two more living Potters?

At the thought of Voldermort, an icy chill racked his bones. In his desperation to find his friends, he'd forgotten about the flat-faced bastard. Was he lurking close? His hand instictivly leapt to the wand in his pocket, his muscles tenses like when a dog catches the scent of its quary. But he slowly relaxed: if the Dark Lord was here, he would have already attacked him. Had he left without checking if he'd successfully finsihed his gruesome business? That was very irresponsible of him.

He resumed his search amid the wreckage. With one arm cradling the now still Harry, he clambered over the blocks of crackes brick, trying to be hasty and thorough at once. His head snapped up at an approaching noise: time was slipping from his fumbling grasp like sand from a shattered beaker.

But a few seconds more told him he did not need to search anymore.

A few feet away was the corpse of Lily Potter. As fair in death as in life, she looked like a broken doll, her skin porcelain white and leached of a heartbeat, her eyes glassy and cold as they stared sightlessly into the night as if they were painted upon her face. Her red hair could have been a sheet of blood as it pooled around her head, her spine snapped like a twig as she lay cruhsed under a pillar. Not too far away was the empty husk of James Potter. His glasses were reduced to splintered shards as they sat crookedly on his nose, his mouth slightly open as his body still tried to utter a spell that would keep the advancing serpent at bay. The emerald of his eyes were dead, the light swallowed as the green flash ripped his final breath from his lungs. He, like his wife, lay twisted and crushed, his bones jutting out impossibly.

The man sucked in a huge quivering breath before spitting it out in a gasp of horror. His heart appeared to have stopped working and flopped lifelessly in his chest, the weight of this agonisingly clear truth pressing down on him till he was nothing but a bloody mess. Moisture welled up in his grey eyes and he couldn't see clearly through them, his body shaking with rage and sorrow and disbelief. They were not dead, they were _not_! They were alive and well and soon he'd wake up from the dream. He refused to believe the corpse of his friend and the man he considered his brother, people who had laughed and cried and shared memories with him, had had lives of their own, lay as pathetic as discarded skins before him.

But a shout made him twist around. Muggles approached with torches carving through the inky night. If they caught him here, they'd be convinced he was the murderer, and then the Wizarding world would think so too.

With a final, agonising glance at the bodies, he angrily swiped away his tears and grit his teeth, eyes dark and hollow. He hopped over the wreckage and darted through the shadows towards his bike. Harry squirmed in his arms and yawned as the man clambered onto his vehcile.

_How blessed you are, Harry, to not be able to understand the sheer tragedy this night has been,_ thought the man with a bittersweet tug inside his chest. _Do you know that you've lost everything this night, your home, your parents? _

With a grimace, Sirius started up the bike, whirled around with a squeal of burnt rubber shot off into the night, riding in the protective cover of clouds and away from the catastrophe that had struck Godric's Hollow.

_So there's chapter one. As a little spoiler, chapter 2 will be at Grimmauld Place, so if you wish for me to continue, please tell me!_


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